INTRODUCTION

The Moment of Truth

 

Well I've gone and done it, haven't I? I kept asking myself how I got myself into this, but the way my pussy is throbbing is answer enough. How could it not after what I have seen and what is about to happen to me now. Watching it first aroused me and now waiting for it to become real is making me crazy. I'm afraid I might just explode when it finally starts.

What am I talking about? Well, I'm currently wearing a pair of black silk stockings with black high-heeled pumps...and nothing else. To make it even more interesting, I am standing with my bare back against a rough cinderblock wall with my wrists and ankles in leather cuffs attached to chains bolted to the wall. I am stretched so wide and high that my heels are off the floor and the muscles in my legs and arms are beginning to ache from the stress.

I can see myself clearly in the large mirror against the wall directly across this windowless room. There is a bright light fixture in the ceiling, making it hard to ignore my nearly naked body helplessly bound. Even though the room is cool, I'm hot and sweating. My nipples are hard and my tits are slowly rising and falling as I try to breathe in this position. But my eyes are focused on my newly shaven pussy, so smooth and exposed in its hairless form. At first I struggled when they told me what they were going to do down there, but when she flashed the straight razor I stayed very still for the procedure. I thought I had done a good enough job shaving it myself, but that was not the case.

Now it was ready for what sat on the small table in the center of the room, a pair of multi-tailed whips. Yes, my shaven pussy is about to receive its first whipping and the idea both scares and arouses me. Of course he promised to flog my tits too...listen to me, multi-tail whips and flogging, words I never even thought about a few weeks ago. What is happening to me? I am about to be whipped and I'm excited, I must be crazy! But I also volunteered for this, no, actually, I begged for it.

And there's more, the small single bed off to the side of the room, the one with the chains attached to the four corners of its frame, that's where I am going to lose my cherry. Yes, I am a virgin, but not for long. That is the other thing I begged for...to have my cherry popped. And not in some mushy romantic setting, no, I am going to be taken on all fours like a bitch in heat. With a whipped pussy and tits to warm me up, I think I might climax just thinking about it.

But before I can tell you what comes next, I ought to tell you how I got here. So sit back and relax while I share how this all came to happen.

 

 

Chapter 1

First, A Little About Me

 

My name is Molly Shannon and I have long dreamed of a strong and powerful man sweeping me off my feet and taking control of my life. Maybe it was because I lost my father when I was twelve, and my mother dove into a bottle of scotch after he died. His death was an accident, but what it did to my mother left me with no anchor in my life. We had money thanks to his life insurance, but mom's drinking ate away at it rapidly and by the time I was seventeen she hooked up with a scumbag boyfriend to help pay the bills.

He was a real bastard who abused my mom and set his sights on me too, but I managed to keep him at bay. When I turned eighteen, fresh out of high school, I took off on my own. We lived in what you might call a one-horse town. The entire town was built around the Grave's family glass factory, the main employer of the few thousand people that lived there. I could not afford to leave with my meager savings, so I took two jobs to save up for my eventual escape. During the day I was a maid at the local hotel and at night I was a waitress at one of the neighborhood taverns.

But after three years I was no closer to my goal, barely able to pay my bills with two jobs, even though I lived in a two-room apartment that was cramped even for one person. Eventually I realized I was like a rat in a wheel, running hard and getting nowhere. So I started looking for a new job, one that paid enough to save money and make good on my getaway plan.

The trouble was that in my town there were no jobs like that, even working at the factory paid little to start. Then I saw the ad that changed my life, though not in the way I anticipated. The Graves family heir, the current owner of the factory, owned a mansion on the outskirts of town. He was the third generation of the family, his grandfather having built the plant fifty plus years ago. The ad was for a position as a maid at the mansion, a position with which I had experience, or so I thought.

What made this position so attractive was that it was a live-in position with board included. Even if it paid poorly, the fact that rent and food were no longer expenses meant I could actually pay off my credit cards and save money. The ad for the position would likely scare off most applicants for two reasons. The first was that it specified that it was a seven-day a week job with a week off every fourth month, a rather harsh schedule for most people. But given that I was working two jobs right now, I had no social life anyway.

The other reason was the rumor about the Graves mansion and what happened to girls who went there to work as maids. They were never seen in town again; at least that's what people said. I always thought it was one of those modern myths, figuring that with the 24/7 schedules and the lack of entertainment in our town, they probably went some place interesting on their vacation weeks. I also figured most of them, like me, used it as a springboard to escape this town altogether. The fact that they hired new maids infrequently and there was never any trouble with the law that I heard about made me dismiss the rumors as idle gossip. At the very least I knew I had to try for this, it seemed like my only way out of this meaningless life I led.

I am a pretty girl, some have called me beautiful, but I never believed it. I am five foot six inches tall and weigh 120 pounds. My breasts are just about right, thirty-four C cups, and with a twenty-six inch waist and thirty-four around my hips, so I consider myself an average girl. People have always liked my red hair and green eyes, but I always hated my freckled and pale skin. I am just one of those girls who never feels as pretty as others think I am and I feel it is better than being a stuck up bitch.

Another aspect you should know about me, if you have not figured it out yet, is that I like to serve other people. It started after dad died, and I ran the house as my mom drank herself into a constant stupor. The jobs I took after leaving home were mediocre at best, but I enjoyed them because in some way I was helping other people. It always seemed to me that serving others needs was a good way to live, and it made me feel valuable. And that was where my fantasy started.

As I said at the start of this, I have always dreamed of having a powerful man take control of my life and when he did I would serve all his needs. Somehow this job seemed like it might be like what I fantasized about. Harlan Graves was the richest man in town; there was the powerful man. He was also a bachelor, so he was available. I knew it was a far-flung thought, but given my bleak existence until now, at least it brought a sense of hope into my life.

With all that said, I called the number in the ad and set up an interview. In the three days leading up to it I spent money I could not afford on a manicure, pedicure, a new hairdo, and an outfit with new shoes. I invested a lot to get this job and pinned all my hopes on it, and when I was dressed and ready for the interview I actually thought I might really be beautiful. I figured that Mr. Graves would want his maids to be attractive, and dressed and made up like I was, I figured it was my best chance for the job.

Finally I was ready and I called a cab to take me to the mansion. I had no idea what kind of adventure lay ahead of me. However, if I had known what would eventually come to pass I might have been scared off and not lived it. But fortunately I had no idea and walked into a new life, one that would become a turbulent voyage. In the process I was about to learn my true calling.

 

Chapter 2

An Odd Interview

 

When the cab reached the gate of the mansion it automatically swung in and the driver headed up the small hill to the portico in front of the house. It was a grand sized Victorian house, three stories tall, very wide and equally deep. How many rooms it held I had no idea, never having lived in anything larger than my parents two bedroom house. The building was painted white with the trim in black, giving it an austere solemn appearance.

As I paid the driver, he asked, "Should I wait Miss?"

"No," I replied, "I will probably be here for a few hours. I will call you to pick me up when I'm done." When I scheduled the interview with Mr. Carstairs (Mr. Grave's butler) he said the interview could take a while if I were a serious candidate. Feeling confident in my resume' and appearance, I suspected I would have the long interview, at least I hoped so.

"OK, good luck," he said, as I had told him about my interview on the way. I was so nervous I had to talk about it.

I exited the cab and walked up to the door. When I heard the cab pull away I knew I could not chicken out; there was no way I was walking back to town in these new pumps, my feet were already sore. But they gave me a few inches of height, displaying my figure better. I wanted this job so bad I would suffer almost anything to get it; little did I know how true that would soon ring.

I approached the door and pressed the lighted button on the frame, then waited, rather anxiously. In a few moments the door swung inward and an older man in a conservative tuxedo opened the door. He was at least six feet tall, with a receding hairline of pepper gray hair. He was large, not really fat, but stout in his physique, which was minimized by his well-tailored suit.

"Miss Molly Shannon I presume?" he asked, staring at me emotionlessly.

"Yes...Mr. Carstairs?" I replied.

"I am simply called Carstairs, but you may call me Sir, the other maids do," he replied, "Please come in."

He stepped back to allow me access, gesturing with his arm as I walked past him and then I heard him close the door. I turned around and he also turned to face me. With another arm gesture he led me back to the kitchen. The house was immense, with the highest ceilings I had ever seen. A large curved staircase was just beyond the foyer and it led to the second floor, but we walked past it to a hall that led to the back of the vast house. I tried to scan the rooms we walked by, but he moved too quickly and I did not want to seem slow or inattentive.

We soon entered the kitchen, which looked like the one at the tavern, only so clean as to be pristine. It was huge and all the appliances were restaurant grade, one of the few things I knew about from my limited experiences. It was obviously designed to prepare large banquets, for at least fifty or more guests was my guess. At the rear of the kitchen was a small office of sorts, basically a nook with a desk and a chair. There was a neat stack of papers sitting there with a pen lying on top of them.

"The application Miss Shannon," he said, holding out the chair for me to sit at the desk. As I took my seat he continued, "It is a rather detailed document and contains questions and requires information most would consider prohibited. It is an invasive application because the Master of the house seeks only the most open and honest employees, ones that are willing to give more than the average person. Are you willing to answer all the questions, fully and honestly?"

Since he had warned me about this part of the process on the phone it was not a shock, but I was still surprised at how invasive it was. It would have been an identity thief's dream, but I doubted the man who owned a profitable factory would want to steal my puny little identity. So I gave it my all, a full and total accounting of my life for the last twenty-one years. I gave them all my ID and credit card numbers, everything that made me an entity in this world. Then there was the questionnaire, 100 questions about what I would do if? It was long and tedious, actually tiring me out by the time I finished.

Surprisingly, shortly after I finished, while I was reviewing the stacks of papers I filled out, Carstairs returned. He stood at the door and said, "Are you finished Miss Shannon?

I said, "Yes sir," as I tried to organize the pile back into a neat stack.

He took the papers from me and said, "Please follow me," then led me back to the far end of the kitchen. There I sat on a barstool next to a counter and he offered me a cool drink, which I accepted.

"Please wait here, I will return to collect you in a short while," he said just before walking away.

I sipped my iced tea and waited there, scanning the kitchen for lack of anything else to do. Barely fifteen minutes later he returned and said, "Please follow me Miss Shannon."

Like a puppy I followed him back toward the front of the house and then upstairs. We entered a bedroom; it was far larger than any I had ever seen. I saw a maid's outfit lying on the bed and a pair of black pumps on the floor.

"Based on the information you provided in your application, this uniform should fit you. The Master would like you to put it on before he interviews you. Since the position requires meeting powerful and wealthy people that visit this mansion, he wants to make sure you look the part as well as be able to perform the duties. I will return in half an hour and take you to him after you have changed into it," Carstairs said, then he left me alone again, closing the door once he exited.

At that moment I was having second thoughts, this turn of events seemed strange and creepy. But as I looked at the sexy black satin outfit, one that was a far cry from the boring gray uniform I wore at the hotel, I decided to see this through to the end. I looked over the outfit, which was a one-piece dress that was mainly black satin, but it was trimmed with white lace at the collar and ends of the sleeves. It had a low collar, one that would definitely reveal my cleavage, and a hem that seemed rather short. There was also a pair of black thigh-high stockings to go with the shiny pumps on the floor.

I looked around to make sure I was alone in the room and then started to undress; glad I wore a black bra and panties today. After removing my blouse and skirt, I wiggled out of my black panty hose while wondering why the uniform required stockings, and I almost chose to keep my pantyhose on instead. But something told me that it might cost me the job, and I wanted it so bad that I disposed of the pantyhose and slipped on the stockings. Once I got the dress on, which seemed to fit perfectly, I looked at myself in the mirror. I did look sexier than my initial outfit portrayed, and I felt that was good.

But when I slipped on the pumps I realized the heels were higher than my own shoes, and I teetered about a bit until I got used to them. I was truly perched on my toes in the patent leather pumps, and walking in them made my hips sashay even more provocatively. As I mentioned, the top of the dress was cut low, clearly exposing my ample cleavage. The hem barely came far enough down my thighs to cover the lacy tops of the stockings. I felt the distinct impression that the appearance of a maid in this place was designed to exemplify her body, in a sexy way. This might have put off some girls, but I was intrigued.

I paced the room fretfully, partly to burn some nervous energy, but also to learn to walk on the towering heels. As I still had a while to wait, I walked about the room, getting more sure-footed with every step. I also looked the room over more closely. The four-poster bed was so large, and once again the ceiling was very high. I guessed that it was at least ten feet from the floor. There was a large wardrobe and a bureau against opposite walls beside the bed, all of the furniture large enough to make the room seem smaller than it was.

I chose not to look inside the furniture, sure that would be considered intrusive and again feeling like it might jeopardize my prospects. I took another long look at myself in the floor length mirror behind the door, and was getting even more impressed with my appearance. My auburn hair and pale face seemed to stand out with the primarily black uniform I was wearing. I began to imagine myself cleaning or cooking in this outfit, serving as a maid in this ritzy house, it was thrilling.

Then came a knock on the door and I heard a muffled, "Are you ready Miss?" come from the other side of it.

I said, "Yes sir," remembering what Carstairs had said earlier.

He opened the door and actually smiled at me, before asking, "Does the uniform fit well Miss?"

"Yes sir, thank you," I replied, blushing a bit under his approving stare.

"Very well, please follow me," again gesturing me out of the room. We walked back down the stairs and as we walked, he said, "You will refer to the Master of the house as Master Graves, or simply Master, is that clear?"

"Yes sir," I replied, wondering at the formality of this place and its owner.

We soon came to a large wooden door, halfway between the front door and entrance to the kitchen. Carstairs knocked on it first, but opened it and gestured me inside without getting a reply. I stepped into the room to see it was a library with every wall covered by shelves filled with leather bound books. Across from the door sat a massive desk and behind it an equally large wingback chair. It was facing away from me toward the fireplace behind the desk. Carstairs guided me over to a chair facing the desk, which looked quite small in comparison to the desk it faced. I took a seat, and keeping my thighs together, folded my hands in my lap.

"Miss Molly Shannon sir," he said, just before he departed yet again.

The chair slowly spun around and there he was, a handsome man with dark hair and a piercing look in his eyes. He was older, but not old, his face cleanly shaven and his appearance quite stunning, to me at least. I suddenly felt very small in his presence and when he smiled I felt my cheeks warm up, as I blushed.

"Good day Miss Shannon, I hope you are still interested in the position?" he said, his voice as sexy as his appearance.

"Yes I am Master Graves, " I said, remembering what Carstairs had said about addressing him.

"Some applicants are put off by my lengthy application and the requirement of modeling your potential uniform. But I view it as a commitment on your part to acquire the open position. How do you like the uniform?" he asked.

"It is very nice but a bit more provocative than my uniform at the hotel." I said, feeling very anxious suddenly. Something about the way he looked at me, like he could see right through me, frightened me.

"Do you have a problem with provocative clothing?"

"NO! Not at all..." I blurted, not really sure what to say.

"Then please stand up and slowly turn around, let me see how the uniform suits you."

I found myself standing up and slowly turning around in front of the chair, my cheeks feeling even more flushed. Something about his voice captivated me and I felt unable to stop or even question what I was doing. Once I did a complete turn and faced him again I saw a wide smile on his face and for some reason it felt good to see him like that. I smiled meekly back at him, but remained standing there in front of him not sure what to do next.

"You may sit back down," he said and I did, a flush of relief rushing through me. Once I was seated again, he said, "You clearly have the experience I seek and from glancing at your financial situation, it seems you need this job. Are you prepared to accept a contract with me?"

"A contract?" I asked, never expecting something so formal for a job like this. But that thought was overshadowed by the fact that it sounded like he wanted to hire me.

"Of course, it is a little different than what you might expect. Given your debt to equity ratio I am inclined to offer you a position with a couple of stipulations. If I hire you I will clean up your debts and put your possessions into storage so you may move in here. For that I will require a commitment from you for one year of service. During that time your salary will be used to pay me back until your debts are paid off and then your salary will go into an escrow account. Is that is acceptable?"